Rings of Phosphene
by oystersweet
Summary: She was the only one who understood the sweetness of his words. He was the only one who understood her.
1. Safely Now

_Author's Note: Because I don't think Paul is as angry as everybody portrays him as. Please review and ask questions if you have them because i'll answer every single one of them. I'm hoping to avoid cliches with this, but tell me if you spot one and i'll have the decency to look ashamed. Also note that this chapter has been edited with the help of my new beta - entre la sombra y el alma, who has been a huge help when it comes to my mishaps.  
_

_Punk Spirit by Wave Machines_

* * *

It could be assumed that somebody with a name so obscure and, of all things considered, tacky, would stand out like a sore thumb, particularly if this someone was named after a fruit. Yet the girl with the unfortunate name of Plum, despite her quirks and funny glasses, did nothing of the sort. In fact, she was a quiet girl, who at times spoke to herself out of sheer loneliness rather than insanity, and despite the positive sides of her, her peers were unable to see past the girl who smelled books and tucked paintbrushes behind her ear. Plum could be found with smudges of paint on her hands as well as all over her clothes, to her mother's dismay, and could be seen counting the number of steps it took her to walk home. Despite her unusualness, Plum could be considered kind and sincere, with her heart in the right place, as described by her parents. She didn't do too well as far a schoolwork was concerned and her parents had never seen her invite a friend over or leave the house to do anything but go for hikes by herself. At times, Plum insisted she liked her own company, but at other times she fell quiet and imagined what it would be like to have a group of friends to laugh with or just one to confide in.

LaPush was a sleepy seaside town where windows wept condensation in the morning and winds howled at night. Plum caught her spark and passion for art from her father who had restlessly looked for a muse until he stumbled on the town of LaPush with its picturesque overcast charm and tightly bound citizens, the latter of which happened to be the root of Plum's problem. The town was a family and Plum was an unusual outsider who caused apprehension among the members. She was different to them and it made them feel uneasy.

It was the type of Saturday morning that caused Plum to wear two paint-spotted jumpers and tights over her wobbly knees. She left a note for her parents in her loopy writing before slinging a backpack over her shoulder and closed the door with a small click behind her. She didn't bother to lock it. Crime tended to be low in such a town as this.

The trees cast flimsy flickering shadows in the breath of the morning sun and Plum walked confidently over the soil and paused every so often to bend down and admire an ant mound or tracks of an unidentifiable animal. She had such a clumsy walk usually. She tripped and wobbled when she walked down the school's hallway, but while ascending mountains and treading on uneven ground her steps were wide and poised.

She thought of school as she leaned on a tree and pondered at the sky. When she had arrived in LaPush two years ago, she had tried to break into a group like her mother had suggested, but the response to her was isolation and solitude.

Lately many of the boys had skipped school for a few weeks and she wondered if they were forming a secret organization. Plum and her odd ideas.

Interestingly, the girl with glasses too thick, too big and too orange for her pale face, untied shoelaces and an idiosyncratic demeanor said out loud, "How strange."

The latest one to disappear was a furious looking boy named Paul she had always regarded as someone too troubled and angry for his own good. Although she liked the way he had pointed out that her shoelaces were untied when she was first assigned to sit next to him in Geography. It was nice of him.

As the sun grew, she ambled on, growing tired of the increased steepness of the dense mountainside, and unable to go on much farther, Plum found herself in a lonely opening overgrown with native flowers, shrubs and weeds. She sat on the wet grass, not caring about the damp spot on the back of her skirt and took off one of her jackets before she started to draw. She drew the flowers at first, but she soon became bored of their limp and feeble structure, so she tried to draw the birds, but they came and went to quickly. She tried bugs, but they were small enough to get away unnoticed. Plum, resigned, flipped the page over and hesitated, pencil in hand.

She had the strange feeling of being watched, yet rather than looking around herself with apprehension and fear, Plum looked up eagerly for the company. Maybe they'd let her draw them.

Her eyes met with something that looked like a wolf, but it was much larger. It stood on four legs, partially hidden in the shadows casted by trees. It looked at her in surprise at first then uneasiness, yet also a sense of curiosity, and Plum could not help but think that the creature possessed rather human-like characteristics. Like the cautious and graceful way it walked for such a large creature, or it could have been the expression held in its face.

"Hello," Plum said, "I'm Plum. It's a bit of an odd name, or so everyone tells me."

The creature merely looked at her with a sense of longing. She thought that it might even crave friendship as much as she did. She crossed her legs slowly and placed her sketchpad on her knees before speaking again.

"Do you mind if I draw you?" She spoke fondly to the animal, as if it were a confidant or someone who would understand her, rather than what it was, – an animal. "I'm not terribly great, but you'd really help me out if you came over here a little."

The creature hesitated uneasily at the edges of the opening, only taking a few tentative steps towards her. To the animal's surprise the girl simply smiled and spoke, "It's okay, you wont hurt me," Rather than "it's okay, I wont hurt you" – which was what the animal expected. With the confidence of Plum's assurance, the animal came close, close enough for Plum to feel its hot breath and smell its wild scent of the forest.

Even sitting, the creature was enormous. It had broad shoulders and such a wide frame, Plum had to look up towards the sky in between strokes of her pencil. The animal sat tensely, too tensely, and too tame for something so wild and free, Plum noted internally as the animal sat still for her, gazing into her eyes the entire time. So human-like, she thought again while outlining the curve of the wet nose.

"You're different," she spoke, still looking down on her drawing. "From any normal animal, that is."

She paused as the creature shifted before continuing. "Not that I mind really. I don't mind the company, but I think everybody thinks I do and that's why they don't talk to me. Maybe that or because they don't like me. I wonder why that is. I wish I could say something to them sometimes, but my throat closes up and I can't bring myself to say, "I want to join in" or anything like that. Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me, and I often find myself saying, yes, there is. I'm different, I know that, but I like that I'm different. I just wish they would too."

Plum spoke a lot, but it could not be considered blubbering or spilling out her feelings, as she spoke in short sentences and let the words drag out. She often spent a minute too absorbed in her art to finish a sentence, which annoyed the impatient creature, yet it sat there all the same. While Plum was absorbed in her art, the creature was absorbed in her.

It was noon by the time Plum finished. She dropped her head back and stretched before noticing that the animal had grown more relaxed as the time had passed. She let out a small smile before speaking. "I've finished, and not to float my own boat, but I do believe that this is the best I have ever drawn."

She flipped the book around to show the creature her work, despite a small part of her brain mentioning that animals have no sense of understanding for silly things such as drawings. Yet the creature bent his head down to look at its portrait, and it looked for a very long time at the shaded animal on the paper, utterly fascinated by the depth and that girl had portrayed him as – beautiful, something he had ever thought he could ever be before.

"What do you think?" she asked quietly. "You really are quite a handsome creature."

The animal watched her as she got up and brushed off her backside, not moving an inch. She gave him a funny grin and he noticed how her glasses were lopsided and skirt was wonky and shoelaces untied. He gawked at her eyes, which were her most lovely feature, wide-eyed and yellow in colour but hidden behind the large spectacles and blonde fringe. He continued to look at her as she contemplated the sky for the time, rather than the loose watch on her left wrist like a normal person would.

She could see into the creature's eyes now as he sat down and she stood up. They were a surprising brown and almost human in shape. Not like an animal at all, she thought.

"My parents are most likely worried. They always are." She spoke sadly, the creature noticed. "I should probably go, even though I don't want to."

She softly and slowly touched the fur of the animal's face, unsurprised that it did not flinch, growl, and back away. It bent its head into her palm and finally closed its eyes, as though it was having a rather pleasant dream. Soon she did have to go, and so she did, leaving sadly with her head down, watching the earth the entire way home, rather than noticing the animal lingering in the background to assure itself of her returning home. Safely.


	2. Gathering Dust

_Author's Note: I wrote this while eating peanut butter out of the jar, which was i'm pretty sure was caused by post exam depression. Moral of the story is study for exams and not be like me, who probably weighs a bit more. Review and enjoy. _

_Alphabet by The Twilight Sad_

* * *

It was at times where Plum found herself desperately running to make it in time for first period on a Monday morning where she understood her mother's exasperation of Plum's knack of daydreaming too often. On her way too school the forest had captured her and she had stood still watching but in her mind drifting into the dream of her and her abundantly sized wolf. It wasn't until a passing jogger asked her if she was okay that she realized she had been pondering the many possibilities for at least fifteen minutes, which meant she was already five minutes late.

She paused briefly in front of the class to catch her breath and work up the courage to enter late, something her teacher was probably accustomed to by now, but also something Plum feared doing which was absurd seeing as it occurred on a regular basis. She lingered at the door in thought, thinking of excuses involving bizarre mention of aliens and odd creatures but the strange process of her brain was interrupted by a voice behind her.

"Oh, Plum." It said, "You're late as well?"

It was Paul, she recognized – but he was different. Taller, muscular with broad shoulders and shorter hair – it flopped in his eyes and hung a little over his ears but by comparison to the length before, it was short. He was also different in the way he was acknowledging her; in the way he spoke and the way he said her name.

Yet should could not return his gaze or words, she simply nodded and put her head down before stepping back from her position directly in front of the door so he could pass. To her surprise he immediately opened the door so violently it almost bounced back into his face but at the same time ever so gently he clutched her wrist and puller her along behind him.

"Sorry we're late," Paul greeted in a sly voice, "Stuck in traffic."

He led her back to her seats confidently, while she trailed along behind clumsily walking into desks and muttering apologies. She could almost hear a snigger from Paul as they sat down. The change in Paul was more noticeable when he sat down at the tiny desk, it was more like an ape – no, in fact the giant creature from before sitting next to Plum, she had thought, peeking at the slumped over figure next to her. He took up most of her desk too, with her crammed as far away as she could be, she noticed how he fumbled with his pencil and how hard it was for him to focus. Soon, she forgot about the overgrown boy next to her and began to dream about the woods, the sky and her wolf. She wondered if it was lonely, she wondered if it had friends but mostly she wondered if she would see it again.

Next to her, the boy silently watched the dreaming girl. He believed it was the pointedness of her chin resting on her fist; the absent and soft look in her eyes and that dreamy expression that caused him to be unable to look away. His heart thudded. He felt helpless and unable to talk to such a strange yet wonderful creature, she was quiet but in her own unconventional way, interesting. He knew her painful shyness would limit their interaction, but something urged him to try anyway.

"Plum," He suddenly murmured, awakening her from the daydream, "I noticed you always have a lot of books. Why is that?"

Her initial reaction was to blush but before words that would brush the boy off left her mouth, she thought about what she had spoken to her wolf. She had confided in it for a sense of longing, and she knew, somewhere inside of herself, that she could not simply ignore the attempt of someone who wanted to talk to her. So she smiled.

"Oh, I love books. I'm always reading at least four at once." She whispered softly in order to avoid the teacher's faltering gaze, "There are so many hidden worlds inside them, so much to be discovered."

At such an odd answer one would usually be put off by, the boy was instead overjoyed by the unusual response. It evoked thought within him, and also a sense of curiosity. Books which once he disregarded and knew nothing about now filled his mind with images of Plum and her untied shoelaces and paintbrush behind her ear. In fact, the girl was the reason the boy drove to the secondhand bookshop that day to purchase all the books she listed and described.

She watched him as he watched her, she felt something familiar about his eyes, they were so brown and so warm for someone usually so angry. She talked about her favorite books and he listened, something she wasn't use to – somebody listening to her. His eyes almost felt heavy on her as she spoke, the unfaltering gaze made her nervous and she tripped over her words and stuttered, but to her surprise he didn't laugh or make fun of her. He simply listened.

Plum felt the day go by, it slipped by in a dream almost. She thought of her wolf most of the time, the dark silver that seemed to light up in the sun. And the eyes, she thought about eyes, Paul had nice eyes too. Like always she faltered at edge of the forest and wondered if her wolf was in there and if she should be too, but she remembered her parents and how they worry about their only child. She did not go, not today at least.

She arrived home to the beach side house on the far end of the reservation, it was secluded and painted a pale pink which could once be considered merry if it had not been faded by the sun. Plum collected the mail from the letterbox she had happily painted swirling pastel colours before letting herself through the white picket fence and entering the house. Plum heard her father tapping away on the keyboard and assumed the absence of her mother was due to her work at the bookshop.

"Hello Plum," Her father called, "Did you have a nice day at school sweetheart?"

She picked up an apricot from their fruit bowl and smiled, "Indeed, somebody talked to me, and they were quite friendly."

The typing stopped and her father emerged from the living room with a crooked smile on his face. Just like her he wore spectacles, had untidy hair and wore mismatched clothes, her mother would always say they were too alike for their own good. He was Plum's gene source of weirdness

"Who was it?" He asked, sitting on top of the kitchen bench and crossing his legs, just like a kid, "Was is a boy?"

She let out a laugh. Plum's laugh was always quite off putting to some, it sounded like the wind and it came out unevenly. It was a sound that was too soft to be considered a laugh, but she thought it was anyway.

"It was actually," She said, but at the sight of her father's eyes almost popping out of her head she added, "Oh dad, it wasn't like that. Just friendly, if you know what I mean."

He relaxed a little and took a sip of his tea, "What's his name then? Is he cute?"

Plum could never be offended by her father's bluntness, like some were. In fact, since she was a child they'd make a joke of it and fall about laughing whenever her mother got mad at the two, but of course she could never stay like that for long. Her mother regarded the two as quite weird and people who often lost themselves in their imagination, but to her, there was never anyone quite so wonderful as her husband and daughter.

"Paul Lahote," Plum smiled broadly, "We sit next to each other in geography. He asked me about my books."

Before her father could respond the front door clicked open and her mother appeared, rolling her eyes fondly at her husband's childish manner.

"Oh, hello dear," Plum's father grinned, "We were just talking about a boy."

"Which boy?" Her mother questioned, "Why?"

"Paul Lahote talked to me today, he was very nice indeed." Plum smiled and looked down at the apricot in her hands

"Our Plum is a bit smitten, I'd say." Her father joked but her mother looked thoughtful.

"Paul Lahote?" She asked placing her bag down on the table, "He came into work just before I left, he bought a lot actually. A lot of the titles you like, your favorites actually. How strange."

Plum and her father exchanged a look of shock, and then he winked at her when her mother's back was turned. Soon she found herself in her bedroom. On moving in, Plum has painted the walls – not just one colour though, she was way too unordinary to stick to just one. She had painted the sky and the woods and the animals in a way that only she could really understand, it was abstract. Bookshelves covered the walls and as though they were not enough, books littered the floor in piles, they sat on her bedside table and the ones she could not reach gathered dust. In the corner of her room an easel sat, old and worn she had received it when she was young as a present from her mother and father.

Plum had flopped onto her bed in thought, what a peculiar boy, the strange girl had thought. To her, he was peculiar in the way he listened to her and in the way he went and purchased the books she had talked about. He had listened, and to her that was enough to make her heart race.


	3. Orange Bowl Shape

_Author's Note: So anyway, exams are done. Although I'm pretty sure I failed all except my english, how I wish I did not need an education. This is chapter three, so enjoy. _

_Andvari by Sigur Ros_

* * *

Her mother drove her to school on the Friday, which Plum often disliked. Her mother didn't quite understand how important the walks to school were for Plum, and to be frank, nor did she. She always believed it was the air or the morning light, but most likely the forest she passed. It always seemed so beautiful, magical even. Even so, Plum thought to herself, at least I wont be exceptionally late today.

"Goodbye Plum," Her mother called as the girl slid out of the beat up family car. "Have a nice day and talk to people, they might be surprised at how friendly you are. You never know."

"Sure, thanks mum." Plum said quietly as she left her mother. She was quiet because she was so sure even if people talked to her they wouldn't like her, as friendly as she may be.

She stopped at her locker to pick up her books for Geography when she heard footsteps of people approaching her. She paused to look up curiously, glasses slipping over her nose.

"Nice glasses, Plum." A girl with brown straight hair said nastily, yet Plum could not detect the nastiness in her voice, she expected too much of people.

She pushed the spectacles up and gave the two of girls a small thankful smile. "Oh thank you, I got them at a secondhand store."

"Too poor to afford normal glasses?" The second girl asked, a slight pout on her lips.

It was then that Plum flushed and fumbled with her books, finally understanding the true nature of the conversation. It was true that her family was poor, yet she didn't understand why that would be important in such a small friendly town like this. Her father did what he loved, despite not being successful at it and her mother worked in a job she liked to make ends meet, they were happy and Plum couldn't understand why that was a problem. So, Plum did they only thing she could. The soft natured girl spoke brave words for somebody so quiet.

"I-I suppose so," She responded looking down, "Although I don't see why that's a problem. It doesn't effect me as a person, does it?"

"Ah but it does," The first girl, who Plum recognized as a girl named Amie in her literature class as, said. "You see, you're not really normal like the rest of us."

The second girl giggled and continued on. "Plum the oddball, I heard your loser dad was a failure of a writer, is that true?"

The question made Plum clench her fists but she said nothing, silently apologizing to her dad for not standing up for him. She looked down at the floor, at her untied shoes and mismatched socks. Was she an oddball? She asked herself the question, unaware of her quirks previously.

"Why don't you leave her alone?" Came another voice, and despite it being laced with anger, Plum immediately recognized it as Paul's. "People like you two are disgusting, why is it necessary to bring others down?"

Plum looked past the girls to see Paul who was apparently shaking in rage, his fists were clenched and his jaw was tight. The two girls slunk away, laughing, leaving Plum and Paul alone in the hallway, him shaking in fury and her watching in curiosity. She was grateful to say the least, he had saved her from crying – something she preferred to do alone.

"Oh hello Paul," She said in her pleasant, airy but wonderful voice. "You do realize you're shaking?"

Still enraged the boy punched the locker next to hers yet became surprised when the girl didn't flinch or back away. He opened one eye to gaze curiously at her, to which she smiled at.

"I don't think that person would really appreciate their locker if you continue to do that," She gently placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch was light and cool, and his shakes lessened at the touch. "Thank you though, I appreciate your kindness."

With one last fleeting yet kooky smile, the girl slowly walked away with clumsy steps, leaving the boy thoroughly confused. I appreciate your kindness. What an odd thing to say, he thought, but he still let a dopey smile slip across his face at her retreating figure.

For Plum the day passed in a dream, like usual. In fact she found herself sketching the wolf in the corner of her Geography notes, but blushed and swiftly covered it with her hands when she thought Paul noticed. It was odd, usually she felt as though she could be open about anything, yet her wolf was different. A secret just for herself. She wanted to talk to Paul all the same, somebody who seemed that genuinely concerned about her should be talked to yet she had nothing to say. Well, she had a lot to say, she wanted to tell Paul almost everything about herself, even things he wouldn't understand, but she felt her words would be laughed at.

"Plum," He had suddenly said in a very tight voice, "About this morning-"

"Oh," She sat bolt upright surprising the boy. "Yes, about that. I didn't thank you enough, I do hope I didn't seem ungrateful."

The boy watched her nibble her lip in anticipation and smiled, despite himself. "No, no it's not that. I just- sorry if I seemed really angry. I wasn't angry at you of course, it's just, people shouldn't treat you that way."

"I'm used to it," She said softly but then looked at the boy curiously when his expression became pained. "I just don't think people get me. That's all."

"I get you." He said without thinking, words which made the girl meet his eyes. "I get you, Plum."

"Oh." Was all the girl could say before the bell rang.

The boy waited for her as she gathered her things, a gentleman, she assumed. He looked at her then, while she couldn't notice. He liked her curly hair, it didn't cascade down her back or fall into ringlets, it was frizzy and at times imperfect yet it suited her, he supposed. The boy noticed a smudge of yellow paint on the side of her face, but he didn't tell her about it, he liked how absentminded she was and how little she cared about her appearance. He quickly observed the items in her school bag as she slid her textbook in; it held mostly art supplies like brushes, a palette and paints but also books. He wondered if there was any school supplies in it at all.

"So," He began nervously as they slipped out of the classroom. "Plans for the weekend?"

She looked at him as though she just realized he was there, something that did not bother the boy yet amused him instead.

"Oh I might go for a hike tomorrow." Plum said before blushing at the mention of the activity, hiking wasn't a typical teenage weekend activity, she assumed.

"I think that's a nice idea," He said softly.

It was a strange thing for Paul to talk softly. He often found himself using harsh and loud words, cursing and getting so very furious all the time; he even wondered why he was so angry at times. Such a short temper was a curse. But something about the girl changed him when she was around, as though he was a different person he spoke softly with gentle words and looked shyly at her through his lashes. He pondered what she was doing when he wasn't near her and he thought of books she might like; he became absorbed in such a quiet bizarre girl so different from himself.

"You think so?" She asked in her easy voice. "I like it, although I'm not sure if many other people do."

"I do," He said suddenly. "It's nice to be so close to nature."

Something inside her whispered to invite him, but she could not bring herself to. She wanted to see the wolf again, and as much as she enjoyed his company, Paul could frighten such a creature away. She felt as though the wolf couldn't been seen by others, and at times she wondered if it was a mere fragment of her imagination.

Before she could say anything in response, he spoke. "Why do you hike?"

"I'm not very fast, nor very good at it to be honest." She said thoughtfully. "In fact, I hike to get places instead of hiking for enjoyment. I like to draw and paint really, and the mountains are the best place to do that."

"Why do you think that?" He asked again, eyes brushing over her face.

"I think," She began, "It's not only because of the subject matter and variety, it's also the atmosphere. It's such a lonely place, she quiet and so still. I like to think it needs company."

The next day she awoke early again, making a habit out of the loopy handwritten notes to her parents she set off towards the mountains, prepared for not just a few hours but a large part of the day. She thought about her conversation with Paul the previous day and smiled at the concept of somebody understanding her. She wished he could be considered as a friend but forlornly understood the unlikeliness of somebody like him wanting to be friends with her. After all, Paul could be considered popular even, although she thought he would be embarrassed about it if she pointed it out. He didn't seem like somebody prone to attention seeking, in fact she often saw him alone. He frequently looked troubled as well, something that made her disconsolate.

With her supplies heavy in her backpack she climbed the mountain slope. Of course she was not just going to paint, in fact, the real reason she had been on edge all week was because of the wolf, her wolf. She wanted, no – needed, to see it again. She wanted to look in its eyes and tell it what had happened and how she was feeling.

Plum found the small opening quickly, even before the sun had began to rise. So she sat alone waiting, but not impatient. She knew the wolf would come; it was kind of like gravity to her.

When the sun was a small orange bowl shape drifting aimlessly in the sky he came as a dark silver shadow emerging from the edge of the opening. Silently approaching her, his eyes on her, her eyes on him. She smiled and the wolf-like animal relaxed a little, as though it was afraid to frighten her. His grace made it seem as though he danced towards her, through the tangled embrace of the brilliantly coloured native flowers and silently he passed the weeping forms of the weeds and overgrown grass.

She did not speak at first, greeting the wolf with her hands tenderly touching the side of its face, just like before. The wolf gave into her touch and quietly laid next to her, his head resting heavily on her thigh. Her hand knotted into the fur on the wolf's neck and they stayed like that.

"I think I made a friend," She said looking at the sky. "Although I do wonder if he wants to be my friend."

The wolf turned his eyes towards her as if urging her to continue, so she did. "His name is Paul. I think he's such a troubled boy sometimes, he get's angry a lot you see. But I don't mind, I think he's sweet and kind when he's not, I just think people misunderstand his intentions most of the time. I think people are frightened of him, he's so tall and scary, but I'm not. He listens to me too, it made me anxious at first but now I quite like it, I think it's nice to be listened to. Also, he stopped these girls from saying awful things to me and if he hadn't I think I might have cried. I wish he knew how much I appreciated it but I can never get the words out."

Like before, Plum spoke softly and slowly as though she chose her words before she said them. The wolf looked at her the entire time, which she liked, it almost made the interaction seem a little real.


	4. Desolate Dreamer

_Author's Note: So this is kind of shorter, but i like this chapter - particularly the ending. It feels weird going through all these early chapters because I've already written nine, and let's just say character relationships are much more developed in those later chapters. Enjoy. _

_Quiet Little Voices by We Were Promised Jetpacks _

* * *

The wolf looked at her, trying to use his eyes to portray his feelings of wonder and admiration towards her, and she simply smiled softly as though she understood.

"Do you like it?" She asked gently setting it aside in the sun to dry, "I would offer it to you but I'm not sure what you'd do with it."

The wolf looked at her longingly and she laughed, something he had never heard her do. To him, it was the most wonderful sound in the entire world. It was sweet and imperfect but also perfect in an unconventional way, just like her, he thought.

"I've been looking forward to this all week," She admitted, now on her back next to the wolf, the flowers tangling through her hair as her head pressed against the ground, "Comfortable, easy. That's how I feel with you; it's a nice feeling I think. Like home."

The wolf placed its head on her stomach as though it understood. To an outsider the interaction would seem reckless, dangerous even. A wild animal and a fragile girl, barley knowing each other over the course of a week acting as comfortable as people who have spent their entire life together. To Plum it was normal, everything was normal compared to Plum and what when on inside her absent brain. To the wolf it was precarious, and he feared what would happen if he lost control even for a second, but he had never felt something so beautiful and sincere in his entire life as the time the two spent together. He couldn't keep himself away from her and she left out a ghostly sigh as though she knew and agreed.

"You know," She said, continuing the one sided conversation, "You remind me of Paul a little. You understand me; I think that's what it is. You're a good listener too."

She thought of Paul then, his cloudy eyes and that look of interested he held whenever she talked. He was someone clumsy with his hands but graceful with his feet, which made them opposites in a way. Plum could hardly walk two steps without falling over but had such an ability to create pure beauty with her hands while Paul often fumbled with the objects he held but could almost glide when he walked. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more opposite they became. Paul with his friends and confidence, graced with humor and the skill to be socially accepted. Then there was Plum who thought of such strange ideas, said the wrong things and had strange habits, but the more she thought about it the more interesting the differences seemed, Paul was an alien to her like she was to him, and it intrigued her.

When the sky turned from overcast blue to a soggy grey and orange they both knew the time had come. She silently picked herself up, unknowing to the splotch of grey paint on her nose and her wrongly buttoned cardigan. She rolled the painting up carefully and removed the elastic hair band from around her wrist before gently touching the animal's giant paw.

It flinched slightly and she gave it a wonky smile, "It's okay, I trust you and you trust me, right?

The wolf relaxed and watched her slide the elastic hair band over his paw and up as far as it could go until it risked breaking. She slid the painting in between the band and his fur and touched the wolf's face again.

"So you can remember me while I'm not here." She said and the wolf closed his eyes thankful of the gentle gesture.

Like before, she left, her shadow entwining with those of the forest in the flicker of the lump and evening sun, but this time the wolf followed her at her edge and she placed a hand on its side, appreciative of the company in the haze of the day. It guided her surely, knowing of the forest but still flinching and jumping at any noise that was not their own, protective of the girl by his side.

They lingered on the edge of the forest closest to her house. She could smell her mother's cooking and could vaguely see the lights from the threadbare house through the gaps of the trees. The wolf sat and she reached out to it, fondly stroking behind its ears and along its cheek. It smiled into her hand, she giggled at the dopiness of the grin to which the wolf looked delighted at.

"I should go now," She breathed into the dusk of the day, the twilight sky heaving above them in swirls of greyed and blackened orange, "I should have been home a while ago."

The wolf looked at her sadly but as though it understood, and again she walked away from it but this time she turned back and smiled before disappearing out of vision into the warmth of her house. He sat there for a long time, simply listening to her humming in her bedroom and talking to her parents while they ate dinner. In her absence he felt a little lost and too eager to see her again, but he knew that something like that could disrupt the strange, strange relationship they had. He continued to listen, hours later, until he could hear the quiet breaths she took while sleeping, and as he looked up at the moon he wondered what sort of dream she was having, even if she was dreaming of him.


	5. Pastel in the Sky

_AUthor's Note: I'm back, and burdened with my exam results. Can you believe 35% in my maths exam? I can, I've never been good at it. _

_Where I'm Going by Cut Copy _

* * *

The day was overcast and the sky looked glumly down upon the boy and girl as they left the classroom, pausing briefly to let some classmates pass. He smiled down on her in exaltation as she tucked her pen behind her right ear, a place usually reserved for paintbrushes.

"Do you mind if I walk you home today?" He asked before he could stop himself, the question came out quietly but he knew she would hear

She blinked behind her spectacles and looked at him, "That would be marvelous, thank you."

He bit back a laugh as he followed her out towards the exit of the school, amused by the obscure otherworldly words she often used, a habit of hers he had grown accustomed to and liked. There were so many strange habits of hers everybody but she could notice, like the paint that was always everywhere, the untied shoelaces, how she hummed songs from a different era to herself, the paintbrush behind her ear and how she counted things often, like her steps or the number of people there were in a line. It was the things that nobody else noticed that she did, and he adored that about her. Her ability to see the beauty in everything.

"Tell me about yourself." He said into the afternoon air as they crossed the school's oval towards the path that lined the outskirts of the forest.

She hesitated, "What's there to tell?"

"Anything," He smiled looking over at her, "Like your favorite colour or your favorite childhood memory. I want to know it all."

"I like a lot of colours," She smiled in her dream-like manner, "Pastels mostly, I like to use those a lot when I'm painting – they're soft, halcyon colours."

It continued, the questions. She told him of her childhood spent in the countryside surrounded by nature and animals and wonder, but not a lot of people. He asked about her family to which she told him how much she adored them, her father especially. She talked endlessly about her favorite books, but less about movies. He learned that she liked photography but loved painting, and he was the first person to know her idea to paint when she finished school at the community college, not wanting to leave the quaint town she had grown fond of.

The beach passed them and they found themselves at her home, shabby and faded but she was not embarrassed by it. She looked at the charming things about it, like the untended roses that grew wildly over the walls and windows or how the house was touched by both the woods and ocean, her idea of pretty rested in the once cheerful pink walls.

They paused in front of it, and she let the quiet words slip from her mouth, "Do you – do you want to come in?"

The boy looked at her in surprise that soon turned to delight as he profusely agreed to, looking over the house in greater detail before they went inside. He liked it just as much as the girl did, it was aged in a graceful sort of way, as though it accepted it contentedly and laid to rest, the jolly pink walls paling in the sun as the house slept.

"Dad," The girl called as she entered, "I'm home and I bought a – a friend."

"Oh," Came a voice before her dad emerged and offered a handshake to Paul, "I'm Plum's dad, but call me David."

The boy grabbed the man's outstretched hand and firmly shook it with his large hand. It was strange, he thought, that for a man Plum described as such an odd fellow almost exactly like her, David was such a normal common name. He smiled at her father who gave Plum a knowing sort of look she rolled her eyes at.

He noticed the inside of her house wasn't orderly, although it wasn't messy either. It looked used, unlike his house, by a busy family who weren't neat. He liked the warmth and how nice it felt to be in a place that felt much more like home than his own house did. The walls were brightly painted yellows and soft pinks to what he assumed to be at the insistence of Plum and her father; their furniture was mismatched with chairs of different colours and couches with different patterns. He remembered the two girls teasing Plum about being poor and although it showed in the house's shabbiness he could not help but feel as though the family were oblivious to it, too absorbed by their own happiness to worry or notice.

Plum ushered Paul up the wobbly stairs to her bedroom to avoid the curious eyes of her father, who seemed to not mind the presence of a boy in his house, let alone his daughter's bedroom. Paul's heart raced as he entered a room too perfect to imagine. Unlike the other walls in the house, Plum's was a mural of thought and emotion – abstract but beautiful shapes lined the walls in what he thought to be the environment, something she was evidently passionate about. He anticipated the amount of books her room would hold; yet he never assumed it would be more of a library than a bedroom. There were too many to count, they lined the walls and laid everywhere else, the only places they did not consume were a patch of space dedicated to painting and a small space on the wall where a painting of a dark silver wolf silently howling in such a ghostly manner it could be considered frightening, haunting even, hung. His heart stopped as he looked at it, unable to contain his delighted grin.

"You did this?" He asked touching the corner of the painting.

The girl, who was busy kicking discarded garments under her bed, looked up, "Oh yes, I suppose. It helped having a model."

The boy paused and looked at her, "A model?"

"I-I suppose so," She said, blushing scarlet at the realization of telling an incredibly important secret to the boy, "I know a wolf, sort of. It's not dangerous and –"

"I believe you." The boy simply said, to her surprise.

"Y-You do?" She murmured, adjusting her glasses to look at Paul properly.

He turned his body around now, so he was facing her, and smiled, "Yes, the animals around here are… different." He turned back towards the first painting of the wolf the girl had made, "It's beautiful, really. You're talented."

The girl sat on her bed and gave a small smile, "You think so? I could paint you – but only if you wanted."

"I'd like that." He said, pleased but staggered by the offer.

It was different drawing the boy, she drew her wolf with confidence – it held itself with pride, eyes never leaving hers. With Paul, her eyes would look up and trace his face tenderly, absorbing the detail, and he would blush and clench his fists, angry at himself for being too shy to hold her gaze. They were both silent, enveloped in her small bedroom captivated by the other – her by the strength presented in the boys face, pure power that should have belonged to a man instead, and him by her wide and wonderful eyes. When they caught his he could not help but look away in childlike embarrassment. Just as soon as she finished the rough and shadowy outline of the boy, his phone rang and he flipped it open, sighing in muted anger and disappointment.

"Yeah," He simply said into the device as the girl watched him in mild fascination, "Okay, okay, I get it. Whatever, I'll be there soon."

"You have to go." The girl said, disappointed that she would be unable to finish the painting but saddened by the fact that she would be without his company.

"Unfortunately, yes." He said, standing up and stretching, "Sam needs me, apparently he wants to switch shifts."

"You work for him?" The girl assumed packing away her art supplies.

He nodded and moved closer to help her, picking up paints and brushes and placing them into her wooden box, "Yeah, it's complicated really, but pretty much."

"I understand," She told him, "Things are often complicated, aren't they?"

He gave her his usual goofy grin and she walked him to the end of her street before he took off running, waving in the hush of the evening sun, his shadow casting back behind him. She smiled as his figure vanished around the corner and made her way back to the house, bringing in the mail as she passed the letterbox. She flicked through the small chunk of letters before pausing. The letter stamped with final notice felt heavy in her hand as she sprinted inside, a small cloud of fear injecting itself into her mind.


	6. Clouded Vision

_Author's Note: Please forgive my previous and kind of current absence, i'm behind both on my writing and reviewing. Both of which will be incredibly generous once i am free. _

* * *

They sat silently in anticipation of her mother's arrival home, as per usual she burst through the door calling to them and making brief sentences about her day, grocery bags whispering as she came into the kitchen. The sight was rare, two usually bright people sitting glumly at such a sorry looking table.

"What's the matter," Her mother spoke, "What's going on?"

It was true that their lack of wealth never bothered the family; as long as they could make ends meet they had no need of luxuries, they didn't mind just as long as they had each other. Although the time had to come, the time where her creative father and hard working mother could not make ends meet. Plum couldn't help feel partially at fault, she often found herself taking her life for granted and when she considered how much her parents had to give up for her, she could do nothing but hang her head. She used her paints too generously and needed school supplies too often, and although she knew her parents would externally disagree with her, they probably couldn't help but consider what life would be like without a child if she were to bring it up.

"Dear," He father began in such a voice Plum had never heard him use before, "We received the final notice. They'll be taking everything, including the house within two weeks."

As her mother sobbed into her father's shoulder, Plum could not help but think of the merry house with its pink walls and jovial garden, the letterbox she painted with her father and her bedroom walls which she had spent painting for days. She wondered if the next owners would appreciate the walls or if they would paint over them with boring whites or beiges. She thought of her books and she thought of Paul, and how she had felt so glad she was painting him, she thought of the piece of herself she had left in the house. How warm it felt when the three talked over dinner or how normal watching her father read the paper in the morning was. She wondered what it would be like to become drifters, to not really belong to the only place she thought she had. What it would be like to float for the rest of their lives, from one place to the next, no matter how much they liked it. She thought of all these things but wondered why the tears streaked down her face.

"What will we do?" She asked into the atmosphere, and her parents turned to her as if just noticing her presence.

Her father used his thumb to wipe the tears from Plum's cheek and gave her a wobbly smile that did not reach his eyes, "I'm not sure sweetheart, but I hope we'll stay here. I'll get a proper job and we'll find a hotel or something, you'll see, it'll be okay."

"But dad," The words came almost silently from her lips, "You love writing, you can't give it up."

He gave her that same smile again, "I'm afraid we all have to give up things we love sometimes."

It was at those words of her father that were not said to give double meaning that Plum pondered what damage she herself had caused to the family. Her painting was costly, she knew, but previously her family had supported her to no end, telling her to do the thing she loved. It was then that Plum knew if her father could not do what he loved, nor could she. When her parents told her to pack her suitcase in anticipation of leaving within the next two weeks, Plum packed essentials only, shutting her suitcase without the presence of her favorite books, and, worst of all, without her art supplies. She paused when she turned around, looking at the unfinished painting of Paul sitting patiently on her easel, she looked at the boy's eyes which looked back at her, they seemed sad almost.

"The last painting," She said to no one in particular before sitting down and choosing the colour of Paul's hair, skin, lips and eyes from memory rather than sight. She found herself blushing as she remembered the way he had looked at her from under his thick lashes and how pink and soft looking his lips were.

She carried it the next day to school the next day wrapped in butcher's paper, her parents had raised their eyebrows and said nothing, which she was glad of. She decided it would be her last painting, and even though the thought of giving it to Paul somehow embarrassed her, she decided to anyway. She found it fitting, and she also secretly thought her gaze might linger on it too often if she kept it.

"Keep it," She said upon her arrival, handing the painting gently to Paul, "But please don't open it until you get home."

"Oh," He said, looking a little disappointed, "Does this mean I can't come back to your house?"

She could not help but smile at this, "You can come back, but there might not be a lot of painting."

"Why is that?" He asked, shifting the painting so it rested under his armpit.

"I've decided to give it up." She said the words firmly but the boy could detect the sadness in her eyes.

"Don't be absurd," He sighed, "You're good at painting and you like it, there's no reason to give it up."

She looked away from him then, and with downcast eyes she said the words that had been on her mind for a very long time, they had even kept her awake the previous night, "It's expensive, I don't think we can afford it – I don't think we can even afford to eat let alone keep our house."

She mumbled the words, unsure of herself. The girl had never been one to talk about her feelings due to her insecurity of appearing too weak or too troublesome to others, but mostly due to having nobody but herself to talk to. The thoughts that often kept her awake at night sometimes bottled up, thoughts she felt she could not comfortably tell her parents. In fact, the girl was often sadder than she appeared; it was just nobody seemed to notice this.

"What do you mean? What's going on, are you okay?" The boy asked in alarm, her looked at the girl with the downcast eyes and felt almost as sad and worried as she did. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes which stood out on her sickly pale skin, he could see the frizz of her hair more uncontrollable than usual and he felt as though something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"I- it's nothing really," She said, still not meeting his eyes, "We're in debt, really bad debt. We'll be kicked out of the house within two weeks."

She did not cry but she felt as though she would have if she met the boy's eyes, there was something so hollow about them that always caused sadness in her, as though the boy's soul was deeply rooted to something far more complex than she could ever imagine.

"That's not nothing," He said, and even though he tried not to show it, his voice was thick with worry, "Plum, what does it mean? Will you have to move away from LaPush?"

"Maybe, maybe we'll become aimless drifters. Maybe we'll just get in the car and drive somewhere where nobody knows us and nobody cares." She laughed bitterly as she said it, a sound the boy did not like.

The boy felt a lot at that moment. There was shock and there was rage, but no emotion stood out quite as much as the pure agony and sadness that promised to consume the boy the moment of Plum's disappearance.

"Stay with me," He said suddenly, gripping the girls tiny hands with his own, "Your whole family. Live at my house, just please Plum, don't leave. Don't you ever leave."


	7. Warmth of Incomprehension

_Author's Note: This chapter is out earlier than I expected because I like you guys so much. You're a very supportive and dedicated lot, aren't you? Keep it up because there are more chapters to come._

_Bullet Proof by RadioHead _

* * *

"What?" Was all the girl could say as she met his brown eyes in a blink of confusion.

The idea to her was anomalous, most especially because it came from a boy she only just began to know. He looked at her with eyes of concentration, yet she could see behind the façade. It was something about the boy that made him easily readable to her; she knew he closed himself off from everybody, she knew he was deeply troubled by something thicker than what imagination could muster.

"Live at my house, we have room. Your parents too –" He voice was quick and desperate, "Just please, you can't leave."

"I couldn't," She blushed, slipping her hands out of his, "That's imposing, I'd hate to – your family would be put out. We couldn't possibly-"

"It's just me and my mum," He spoke softly now, yet she could still detect the desperation, "You could sleep in my bed and your parents could have the spare bedroom."

Her eyes widened and she let out a strange sort of noise at the thought of sleeping in a boy's bed, yet it was not just any boy's bed – it was Paul's, which was what terrified her the most. She blushed furiously at the thought of what his room looked like, what it smelled like, if it was messy or if he kept it neat. She had never before entered a teenage boy's room, the pure thought of it made the often prudish Plum absurdly horrified.

"Y-Your bed?" She choked out, alarmed that the boy was not put off by the idea and instead had a wicked glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

He waved her off, "I would sleep on the couch of course, and it'd be great! We'd walk to school together, you could even cook for me!"

The boy felt a bubble of excitement, even hysteria, slip over him as he listed the things Plum and he would do together. She would cook for him! He wondered what type of food she made, Italian maybe? His internal monologue picked up in a wave of pure hormonal excitement. Plum in his house, in his room. The thought made him giddy.

The girl bit her lip, not wanting to tell the boy of her past cooking catastrophes, "We couldn't though, no matter how much you say we wont, I fell as though my family would be imposing. Have you even asked your mum?"

"She'll be fine," He said, brushing off quite an obvious problem, "You won't Plum, really. My mum doesn't have any friends; all she does is sit at home by herself. She needs company, she needs friends."

It was a very sad thought indeed to Plum, although she did not suppose her parents had friends but they did have each other, which was better than being alone. She thought of Paul's mother and how much they may have in common as Plum's only friends were an angry boy and a lone wolf.

"I – I can't, my parents aren't the type that like to depend on others." She mumbled, slightly convinced by the idea but apprehensive. He could hear it in her voice, it was the hint of caving in, and it was at that that he knew he had her.

"It wont be like that," He said, pleading with her almost, "I'll just be helping you out, think of it like that. I'm offering because I want to Plum."

Plum thought of her parents and the worry engraved in their tired aging faces the night before, she thought of Paul's hospitality and the thought of his mother not liking the idea. She tried to imagine waking up in the morning and seeing him, living under the same roof as him. And to her dismay she also thought of how much she liked the way he said her name.

"I'll try," She said mutely, "I'll talk about it with my parents, but I'm not sure if they'll be to thrilled."

That was enough for the boy, yet he still insisted to accompany the girl home to propose the idea. Plum pretended to be annoyed by the idea, especially when the two were walking to her house in the lazy soggy afternoon, but secretly the boy's company thrilled her.

"Oh," The girl had said looking up at the sky as the rain began to dot her clothes, "It's raining."

The boy followed her gaze and removed his jumper, "Here, I'm not cold."

When the girl looked at him a little absentmindedly he rolled his eyes and placed the jumper over her shoulders. Plum could not help but blush and stutter as Paul's burning hands grazed her shoulders; she looked down and shrugged into the jumper a little, enveloped by the woodsy smell that lingered on it.

"You'll be cold." Was all she could say, and quietly so.

The boy laughed and it was a deep and throaty sound, Plum could not help but think about how much she liked the sound. He sounded almost like a dog, which she couldn't help but stifle a giggle over.

"I'm not cold," Paul said before hesitantly raising his palm and pressing it to the girl's face, "See. Like I'm running a temperature, right?"

The girl did not flinch despite her surprise of the action; it felt comfortable, like she had known Paul for years instead of weeks.

"Shouldn't you be concerned about that?" She asked with a smile, teasing him.

He gave a nonchalant shrug as the two pushed through Plum's rickety gate, "Maybe, but I'm fine I suppose. I guess it suits my temper, right?"

She shook her head, "I haven't seen you angry all that often but I think people believe you're angrier than you really are. Not a lot of people understand you."

They made their way into her house, the boy casually holding the door open for her as if out of habit. It was quiet but she knew both of her parents were there, presumably thinking and worrying. The girl worried too, despite Paul's offer she knew they would not be okay by themselves. She feared they would not be able to get by on their own, she feared her future plans driven by passion rather than money would not come true. It was then that she realized she would not go to college, not paint and not do the things she wanted to.

"Dad, mum, I'm home." Plum simply stated, kicking off shoes before adding, "Paul is here too, he wants to talk to you."

She found her parents in the kitchen contemplating various letters that she recognized as bills, the girl felt a flutter of anxiety before she spoke.

"Well, I told Paul our situation," She mumbled the word situation, not trying to put emphasis on it, "And he has an idea he wants to propose. I didn't agree with it at first but he can be rather convincing."

"You see," Paul started with that air of confidence the girl knew so well, "I've grown a bit attached to your daughter and I don't really want to see her leave, we've grown to be friends and I genuinely enjoy spending time with her. I live with my mum and we have plenty of room at our house, you wouldn't be imposing in fact you could really be a help. Would you like to stay in my house, at least until you find your feet?"

The girl watched him as he spoke, there was something so grown up about his manner of speaking that captured her. Yet at the mention of attachment she could not help but blush and look at her hands, Paul was attached to her. She wondered how that could be. To her, she was simply Plum, simply plain old four-eyes Plum.

Her father paused before he spoke, "That's really very nice of you Paul, but we simply can't burden your mother or you like that. I'm sure you understand this is an incredibly difficult time for us and we appreciate your offer but we can't rely on your family like that."

For the first time in her life the girl noticed the aged lines on her father's face. They were heavy and sunk down her father's face, forcing her to drop her dreamy absent mind and notice the pain her family was enduring, for the first time in her life Plum felt mad.

"You're being dumb," She said, it was soft but the muted anger was easily recognizable to the occupants of the room, "You're being unreasonable. We need this, you're both suffering but you're too stubborn to swallow your pride."

What followed was tense silence; Plum did not often speak her mind especially if what she had to say was bitter. The girl could feel Paul's concerned but encouraging gaze, and felt the numb astonishment radiating off her parents. Her kind faced mother and faraway father simply stared at her, unsure of what emotions they should be feeling.

"Paul is being kind," She said yet her voice did not sound angry, it softened when she said his name, "He wants to help and he wants to save our family. How can you refuse?"

It was then that she looked at her mother, her apprehensive, tender and tired mother who looked back at her daughter before speaking as softly as Plum, "Plum is right, we don't have options David."

"I guess you're right," He murmured, his hand enclosing around his wife's under the table, "As long as it's okay by your family Paul, we graciously accept."

They moved in that weekend which caused Plum to be a little glum as the plans with her wolf became postponed. At the same time she was also excited and nervous, she felt a secret delight at the thought of spending more time with Paul, waking up with him there. Yet she was shy when she met his mother, a somewhat plump woman with a tired but caring face who, to Plum's dismay, often stared at the girl with a small look of knowingness in her eye. It made Plum uneasy but all the same she liked Paul's mother, Marina. She felt a little comforted by her presence; Marina was a quiet person also and didn't feel the need to inject senseless small talk into a conversation.

"This is my room," Paul said a little nervously as he and Plum paused outside the bedroom furthest away from the stairs, "You'll be sleeping in here, if that's okay. I'll take the couch."

"You didn't have to do that." Plum mumbled before following the boy into the room.

The first thing she noticed was the incredible amount of natural light in the room. There was a window facing the backyard, which also happened to lead into the woods. Plum observed that Paul's room didn't have as much character as she had hoped, there were no posters, but only the painting she had given him and the remaining corners of an unknown poster stuck there by sticky tape, as though the poster had been taken down. She noticed, with a blush, that there was a small collection of books balanced on top of his dresser, all of which were books she had recommended.

"It's nice." She said, trying hard not to breathe in the scent she loved, that woodsy and wild scent she had grown so fond of.

"Mum made me clean it up a bit before you came." He admitted running a hand through his hair, "It's not that great compared to your old room."

"I like it," She said all the same, "It's very normal."

"Normal isn't that great, I don't really like normal too much anymore." He said looking at her.

She looked back at him, assessing his eyes. They were warm and tender, as though he was gazing rather than looking at her. She felt her knees go a bit wobbly as she recognized a glimpse of awe in them, yet she did not understand why it was there. There was something behind them that she couldn't quite comprehend, but it made her feel nice all the same.


	8. Shadows of Orange

_Author's Note: There are more characters introduced in this chapter, our protagonist also makes quite a nice discovery. I'm going away to Japan in about nine days, i'll be gone for two weeks but i'll possibly have internet and access to a computer. Nevertheless, it'd be great if you reviewed all the same - they really do make my day. _

_Truly Madly Deeply - Savage Garden_

* * *

What a poor habit to develop, Plum thought as she awoke early on Sunday, not being able to sleep in. It took a moment to register where she was but when she did she flushed. She was in Paul's bed, in his sheets, and as much as she hated to admit it, they smelt good. She rolled over to plant her face in his pillow, red from embarrassment. Too hormonal, she thought, she was acting too much like a teenage girl. Obsessing over a boy like this was probably not healthy, especially if she was going as far as smelling his sheets.

With a groan she raised herself from his bed and pulled a wonky cardigan she had poorly knitted herself on before, as quietly as possible, descending the stairs. It was early; around five o'clock early and the girl did not want to disturb the noiseless household. Yet as she passed the couch she froze, startled.

It seemed Paul only wore boxers when he slept and the exposure of dark and muscled skin was a little too much for the girl who had not long ago been smelling his sheets. However, the boy's body did not hold her interest for long as the girl was captivated by his face. Plum had never seen anything so innocent or so beautiful in all of her existence; the hard face of a man had softened to that of a child with lips parted slightly and eyelashes entwined together. She could not help but giggle when he let out a snore that should have belonged to an animal rather than person.

To her embarrassment his eyes flickered open immediately at the sound, wide with wonder yet hazy with sleep.

"Oh!" She gasped, turning absolutely scarlet at being caught staring at him sleeping, "Jesus, oh."

She quickly turned and walked quickly to where she vaguely remembered the kitchen being, yet as she wrenched open the door it was a closet instead. She ducked her head as she heard the dog-like laugh behind her before turning around, mortified.

"Paul," She greeted, pretending as though she had only just seen him there, "Good morning, didn't er, see you there. Where's the kitchen?"

He propped himself up on one arm with a cocky smile on his face, "So are we going to completely disregard that I caught you watching me while I slept?"

"Er, that would be nice, yes." She mumbled scratching her head in what she hoped to be a nonchalant way.

He chuckled and sat up, the blanket falling on his lap, "You want breakfast right? I'll make you something."

"Oh you don't have to do that…" She muttered as he walked past her to the actual kitchen.

"I want to." He said simply.

Plum watched Paul busy himself around the kitchen feeling spectacularly impressed that Paul could in fact cook. Yet as he set the ingredients on the bench an awfully funny look crossed his face.

"What's the matter?" She asked coming to his side.

He let out a low moan. "I don't know how to cook."

She laughed the whimsical laugh he liked the best, lighting up the boys face as she did so before she said, "Neither do I actually. Maybe we'll have to make it together and see what happens."

Stifling a giggle at the apron Paul put on, Plum began to crack the eggs. Although, despite the positivity the two had of their rather poor cooking skills combining to create something half decent, they were indeed wrong. There were eggshells in the pancake batter, and it was lumpy and too watery. The two did not seem to care as they quietly laughed, taking it in turns to stir the batter.

"You have flour on your face." Plum snorted as she observed Paul, getting the impression that he looked rather dopey with the white on the tip of his nose.

"Yeah?" The boy challenged before brushing his flour-covered finger along her jawline, "You do too now."

The action left the girl rather pleased, yet as always embarrassed by Paul's forwardness. Her skin was hot where he had touched, although she was not sure if it was due to his rather high temperature or just because he had touched her.

She simply looked down to the frying pan and with a jolt realized the pancake was burning, "Brilliant."

They ate their burnt pancakes on the porch due to the vivid sunrise bursting over the beach in perfect view of the house. Plum had her feet tucked under her watching the misty sky in awe as the orange and pinks swelled over the early surf. For the boy, he secretly watched Plum as though she was the sunrise instead.

"These taste like rubber." The boy eventually said, breaking the comfortable silence, "But it tastes better for some reason, more rewarding."

The girl smiled and shivered slightly in the break of day, "I now assume the secret ingredient to pancakes is friendship."

"You're shivering." He said before getting up.

She listened to his footsteps into the house and raised her head to see him return with the blanket he was sleeping in the night before. To her dismay but pleasure, the boy draped half the blanket around her shoulders and the other half around his. He was so warm, she thought as his thigh and shoulder pressed against her lightly, she attempted not to lean into the warmth and she did well at resisting before Paul shyly wrapped his arm around her shoulders. The warm touch ceased her shivers yet the girl almost gave Paul tremors as she leaned her head against his shoulder, as though the action was second nature.

Her hair touched his face and Paul could not help but feel as though it was the softest thing he had ever encountered. Plum's skin was so tender and her body was curved, not slight and frail, as he once believed. The boy breathed her in and he had never thought there would ever be a scent as wonderful as hers, it was of the ocean and the woods and the rain and the fruity shampoo he knew she used.

It was into the silence that the girl spoke in a way that was euphonious to him but normal to her, "It's going to be a good day. Look at the colours in the sky, it doesn't even look like it'll rain."

And indeed, it would be a good day.

"Plum, would you like to go to the beach?" Paul asked as they cleaned up the kitchen, he seemed awfully nervous for some reason. "Only if you want. I mean I'm sure you'll have better things to do."

"The beach?" She asked looking up at him quizzically.

He turned away from her to hang up his apron, "Yeah, if that's okay. I want you to meet some of my friends."

"Friends." She said. The word came out laced with awe.

Plum had forgotten that Paul had friends that were not her, and she felt selfish for it. She had kept the boy as if he was hers and she disregarded his previously relationships to simply be graced by his company, the thought made her hang her head.

"Yeah – Sam and Emily and Jared and Kim. They're really very nice," He murmured now looking at her. "I'm sure you'll get along."

She hesitated, but not for long. "That would be really nice, thank you."

Friends, she thought. Something that always seemed so out of reach, she was much too withdrawn from the world to even consider the prospect of somebody but Paul. Yet it happened at midday when the boy and girl carted blankets and picnic baskets to the near empty beach. The sun hung lowly in the sky cloaked by the thick cover of clouds while down on the earth, Paul and Plum approached a small group sitting not far from the surf.

There were two males and two females, but from a distance it looked like there were only two people. With a shy smile, the younger girl Plum assumed to be Kim, was tucked into Jared's torso, his arms draped around her in a loving but protective embrace. Sam and Emily mirrored the other couple in an embrace so tender and loving it seemed almost private.

"Hey everyone," Paul greeted, dropping the two's belongings in the sand, "This is Plum. Plum – Jared and Kim, Sam and Emily."

"Hello Plum," Emily greeted kindly.

Usually the first feature noticeable was Emily's scars running obviously down the right side of her face, pulling down her features. Yet Plum's first impression was gathered from Emily's smile and the warmth present in her almond-shaped eyes.

Plum could not help but feel nervous, just like Paul, Jared and Sam were enormous – both over six foot, shirtless and bulging with muscles. Yet she had to remind herself that they were just like Paul, Paul who was kind and liked her unconditionally.

She greeted them all with a wide smile at her new found confidence, "It's nice to meet you all."

"I think we have Trigonometry together," Kim smiled at her. "I don't think we've talked before."

Plum shook her head and took a seat next to Paul. "Don't suppose we have, it's a pleasure though."

Paul could not help but notice how the usual childish girl acted as though she were an adult, something the boy had to stifle laughter at. He had a feeling she was trying to impress his friends for reasons he did not know for. They were inches apart but the boy wanted to be close to the girl like Sam was to Emily and Jared was to Kim. As the wind fiercely picked up the boy instinctively put his arm around her, the girl was finally warm.

The day was pleasant. The wind often picked up and caused a collective shudder within the group, but the sun determinedly continued to remain in the sky, dipping behind swirling puffs of grey on occasion. Sand found its way into the food and between the toes of the girl, who stood with her feet in the water next to Kim, while the boys were having a particularly rough game of soccer.

"Paul is nice isn't he?" Kim asked in deliberate nonchalance.

Plum could not help the smile that appeared on her face at the mention of his name. "Oh why yes, very much so. Nice, yes he's very nice."

"Do you, ah…" Kim trailed off swishing her foot around to disturb the sand on the bottom of the ocean. "Like him then?"

Plum did not pick up the light searching tone of Kim's voice, to oblivious to grasp the conversation point. She simply blinked at Kim in a slight daze, as though she had been awakened from a particularly lovely daydream.

"Of course I do, we're very good friends you see." The girl beamed at Kim, as though proud of herself and the company she kept.

Kim bit her lip to stop a small disbelieving laugh escaping. "Oh Plum, I wasn't talking about liking him in simple friendship terms."

The girl merely stared at Kim, obviously misinterpreting the conversation completely.

"I'm not sure how you mean." Plum offered.

"Well," Kim sighed, looking over towards the boys and Emily. "I'm talking about liking Paul in the way I like Jared and the way Jared likes me."

Comprehension was drawn to the girl's face as well as an alarmingly pronounced and furious blush; it made her seem almost prudish. The sun was starting to sink now, and just as it had in the birth of the day it cast shadows of pink and orange across the forgiving sky. The distant cries of laughter touched her ears and the scene to Plum seemed almost as though it was a distant memory one would remember in a nostalgic and fond haze.

"I don't think…" Plum began before trailing off. She paused, looking down. There was something about the question that surfaced feelings she had felt and before she could bring herself to deny the fondness she felt, she simply thought of Paul, causing a surge of weakness cripple her knees. There was something so alarmingly girlish about the was she felt about his humor and his kind words that always seemed to be whispered rather than spoken. How soft his skin felt against hers, but more so how good it felt. "Is this what it feels like to love someone?"

"How do you feel?" Kim asked softly, intently.

"Like I'm going to vanish." The girl said, her hair swirled around her face as she tilted her head to look up at the sky. "I don't think I deserve to be this happy."

"I disagree." Kim said plainly. "I think you'll find that Paul will too."

The girl looked over at Paul now, a ghost of a smile appearing on her face. The wind swirled around him, and a small tornado of sand enclosed on his legs as he ran. It was true that he was good looking, but the girl found herself not falling for his looks. His sweetness only she knew had captivated the girl, and ultimately she found herself gazing intently at the boy she realized she loved.


	9. Sea Salt Territory

_Author's Note: Not particularly happy with this chapter, but i thought I'd expand the sub plot. Thank you to the reviewers, also. There are about four or five of you that never fail to brighten me up with your constant dedication - honestly, if it wasn't for you I don't think I'd still be writing this story. _

_Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac_

* * *

Despite the rather omnipresent realization that now hung in the girls mind, nothing between the two had changed. They continued the habit of their unusual friendship, collecting shells on the somewhat grim beach shore, creating rather unusual and suspicious recipes from scratch and often on dimly lit afternoons retreating to Paul's bedroom to read together.

Plum viewed their time together again and again as if it was a reel of film in her head before she fell into the realms of disconnecting sleep. She stared into the dark for long periods of time, focused on the cloudless rings of phosphene forming in her vision. The thought of him made her dizzy, and in moments he was absent she felt as though she kept spinning, even when the world did not.

They sat inside on a cooling evening, the outside brimming with the darkness of nightfall. The girl's face was inches from a piece of paper, and her hands furiously crossing out lines while her tongue poked out in concentration. The boy watched her, eyes widening animatedly in curious wonder. In front of him sat his own homework, untouched and unthought-of.

The scratching of pen and paper stopped very suddenly and the girl leaned back, eyes narrowed at her work. She seemed to scrutinize it and once satisfied she turned to Paul and spoke. "I think I'll go type up my poem for literature."

"Do you want to use my computer?" He asked somewhat hoping she'd say no. He had not cleared his Internet history recently.

She shook her head dismissively and the boy almost audibly sighed in relief. "No, no that's alright. I'll just use my dad's. You stay here and carry on with your homework, I'll be back in a bit."

Paul thought, slumping back in his chair with a rather disgruntled look at the girl's retreating figure, that there was nothing he would rather do than be with her. He decided to at least take the girl's advice and began to complete the worksheets for history due the next day.

"Paul." Came the girl's suddenly very curious voice from the next room.

The boy jumped up immediately, almost knocking over the table as he scurried through to the study. She sat with her back to him in rather unusually rigid posture. "What – is something wrong. Plum, Plum are you okay?"

"Remember how my dad is – was a writer." She said.

He cocked his head to the side a little, confused as to why the girl was talking about her father rather than herself. He was too anxious to be logical.

"I do." He breathed, eyes glued to the back of her head. "But I don't understand why – I don't get it."

She swiveled around in her chair to look at him now, she had a disheveled look about her that was almost comical. Her eyes were wide and the boy could tell her brain was whirring.

The girl looked a little excited now, she spoke hurriedly. "On his computer – his novel, I found it. He ended up finishing it Paul; he just didn't attempt to get it published. Or more so, he doesn't have time." She stood up fairly quickly and began to pace the length of the room. His eyes traced her.

"This means, this means…" She murmured to herself rather than the boy. "What if it's publishable? What if…"

She stopped very suddenly. "Paul, would you be able to give me a lift?"

"Sure. Anything." He responded automatically, despite his absolute confusion.

With forgotten homework she hurried off to the other room, returning with a USB. The boy raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she hastily busied herself with the computer. He merely watched the girl, to fascinated by her crooked glasses and frizzy hair to pay attention to what she was doing.

The drive was pleasant, but slow. The boy didn't mind, neither did the girl who occasionally stole sideways glances at him. The wind ruffled them as the sky dimmed and the streetlights came on, casting ghostly flickering glows onto the road. Port Angeles was quiet, but the smell of sea salt still drifted through the windows.

"It's just around the corner." She said softly, breaking off her gentle hum to the radio.

They pulled up in front of a reasonably empty looking store, which looked as though it belonged to a printing company.

The boy made a face before speaking. "What's going on, Plum?"

She turned to him with that same excited look plastered to her face. Although the boy was eager to uncover the girl's idea, there was a part of him too preoccupied by how pretty her eyes looked.

"Listen, Paul." She began in a hurry. "My dad has never really been successful at what he does or, did really, but despite this he kept trying. It's what he loved, wasn't it? And before he had a chance to send his most recent novel to a publishing agency, he decided to quit."

"Kind of like you and painting." The boy reminded her quietly.

There was a flicker of longing in the girl's eyes before she recoiled back into her seat, face cast downwards. Her hair fell over her eyes and the boy gently tucked it behind her ears and gave her a determined look.

"You shouldn't give up what you love, Plum."

She looked at him searchingly, reminding herself that painting wasn't the only thing she loved. The thought almost caused a blush to rise, but she held it back and stared at the boy. "I know, but I'm not important right now."

The boy choked back a protest, eyes almost popping out with the effort. He immensely disagreed, but held back his thoughts to let the girl continue.

"My father works in a service station now." She said the sentence, but did not sound ashamed. In fact she looked proud. "He gave up what he loved for his family, and now he's unhappy. I'm not going to let that go on for much longer."

The boy simply nodded, drinking in her words. "Okay, I don't know what you're planning but I'm willing to help."

"We're here, at this printing company, because I want to print several copies of his novel and I want to send them to publishing agencies." She said, although it looked as though she was not looking for his approval. He realized, with a smile, that she was too independent and too determined to worry of anyone's approval but her own.

"I assume that USB contains the novel?" He asked thinking of the small stick enclosed in the palm of the girl's hand.

She nodded. "Correct, I think about twenty copies would be enough. We'll send them to as many publishing agencies as possible, starting off with American agencies. If we have to we'll expand."

He tried not to laugh as they got out of the car, thinking about how incredibly strange it was for someone as unusual as Plum to speak in such a professional, business-like manner. He had always thought of her as childlike, with a disbelieving amount of ignorance and innocence. To see her act like an adult was almost, he thought with a grin, almost sexy.


	10. In the Air

_Author's Note: _This is shamefully short, but I've been away recently and you've all been very patient with me so I am incredibly sorry for the wait and also very sorry for the lack of quality for the last couple of chapters - i swear it'll get exciting soon.

_Racing Like a Pro by The National_

* * *

"Paul," Plum began lightly. "What do you say to hiking this weekend?"

Paul watched the girl carefully as they walked under the afternoon's wet sky. Her shoulders were hunched and with a tight knot in his stomach the boy exhaled, knowing what was coming.

"You'd like me to see your wolf, wouldn't you?"

She blinked and looked away from his gaze, searching the canopy of pines instead of his sharp eyes. It seemed she was rather nervous, as though her two worlds and her two selves collided.

"If you'd like." She murmured. "We don't have to."

"No I think we should," He gave a rather silent but resigned sigh. "I- It's about time."

She beamed at him, and for a moment he felt the worry and the anxiety drain. He couldn't help but notice how her hair clung to her forehead and how straight her teeth were. While at the same time she was noticing that his hair had grown longer and that just faintly she could feel his body radiating next to her. She felt so aware of him, and him of her, yet the sad truth was that all they could do was notice the other for their feelings laid unheard and unnoticed. The rain pounded, the wind brushed over their skin. His hand twitched while her hand was not held.

"I told your mother I would help cook tonight." Plum mentioned offhandedly. "She was quite glad, although I don't think she will be once I burn the chicken or set something on fire. All the same, I'm glad I can help."

"Why is that?" Paul questioned, slightly intrigued.

The girl tilted her head to the side. "I haven't had much of a chance to talk to your mother, and I'd like to."

Paul angrily felt himself go a shade of red. The girl he adored and his mother, his mother who knew what the girl was to him, talking. Spending time together. He had to bite back is dismay and protest, yet still thought of the situation as something else to worry over. What if his mother was careless, what if she let something slip?

"That's – well, great Plum." He managed awkwardly.

She nodded happily, oblivious. "Yes, she seems very lovely. Nurturing and caring, although a little fierce."

Paul let out a wild laugh. "Nurturing? Caring? Plum, my mother is nuts."

She skipped forward as the house came into view. He heard her laugh into the air, it was airy and disbelieving yet he still undoubtedly loved it, jogging forwards to catch up to the girl whose hair whipped out behind her as her figure grew smaller and smaller into the afternoon sun.

In a sense, Plum realized as she watched Paul's mother busy herself around the kitchen, Paul wasn't lying. His mother was a little weird, a woman whose hair was held up by chopsticks and a woman who used her weeknights for clipping coupons out of the newspaper. She loved her cat and son and went jogging in the evenings and on Saturday mornings went for coffee with "the girls" – a group not even Paul knew who was in. She was kind but stern with her son who cowered under one of her piercing gazes, something that did not surprise but all the same amused the girl.

"It's strange," Plum began as she sliced onions. "Paul is almost terrified when he makes you mad."

Paul scowled halfheartedly from the corner, but said nothing, too busy watching the girl with comfort. Her hair, frizzy from the rain, was tucked behind her ear, Paul enjoying the view of her soft curved face from his place at the bench.

"He should be afraid, although I don't see why you'd believe it to be strange. I can be quite intimidating when I want to be." Paul's mother chortled.

Plum shook her head slightly with a smile on her face. "No, I just mean it's strange to see a six foot tall boy cowering under someone almost half his height."

The room laughed, and Plum could not help but feel warm even though it was cold and wet and soggy outside.

"So." Paul's mother said into the dying laughter. "Are you two dating yet?"

Everything happened very fast. Paul made a sound and the laughter grew very flat before very silent, as though it fell from the air, as though gravity shifted. The girl's eyes grew wide and her hand slipped out of shock, her knife, loose in her petit hand, sliced across the girl's index finger and she let out a small cry of surprise, rather than pain. It only took an instant, but the boy felt it to be an instant too long, for Paul to be by her side.

"Plum, Plum." He moaned as he inspected her finger. "Are you okay?"

His hand hot on hers, she blinked, wishing her heart would slow down, although at the same time wishing it to burst.

She nodded, meeting his intense stare, dazed. "I'm absolutely fine. Honestly."

He exhaled, looking much too relieved. His head fell and rested on her shoulder. "I thought you were hurt."

"It's just a cut." She said meekly looking at her finger. A drop of blood oozed out of the cut, that was merely all – nothing to worry about, surely?

He raised his head, inches from her own, a sheepish grin on his face. "You need to be a little careful, okay? I'll get you a band aid."

"Oh you don't have to –" She started, but before she could finish the boy had disappeared and the girl was left hopelessly and awkwardly alone with the boy's mother, who was looking at Plum knowingly.

His mother moved back to her previous task of slicing carrots, the sound overwhelming the silence.

"To answer your previous question," Plum began quietly, facing away from the woman. "No. Although that does not mean I wish for it to not be true."

Plum watched the light outside the window dimming, and she looked at a sun that in mere moments would be gone. The artificial kitchen light casted shadows against the wall, the rain fogged the windows and made sounds against the roof.

"I'm glad it's you." Paul's mother said quietly, as though to herself rather than Plum.

The girl did not know what the woman meant; yet she did not question it. It was a private moment meant only for the woman and the girl did not interrupt as she knew too well what it was like to be wrapped up in her own mind.


	11. Soaking Sand

_Author's Note: I've hit over forty reviews, which might not be a lot to some but for me it's overwhelming. Honestly, if it were not for the readers and reviewers I probably would have dropped this story after three or four chapters. You've all helped me love my characters, but most of all, writing. I get an endless amount of pleasure hearing from everyone, you've made me all look forward to afternoons where I can ignore my homework and continue this story. I'm feeling fairly soppy but happy, I hope you like this chapter because I'd say I do, despite it being a bit short (again). _

_Ocean Breathes Salty by Modest Mouse_

* * *

Her hair swirled around her face, the wind cold on their necks. Their path was lit by a soft glow, the sun peering on the scene from behind the soft waves of surf, which rolled onto the beach and soaked the sand. They did not speak, but it was not uncomfortable. The girl's head was raised, her eyes misty and the boy thought she was deep in thought. He did not interrupt and merely stole glances at the girl's face when he thought she could not notice. They were so tiny compared to the mountains and trees, and so insignificant to the birds who swooped above. Yet they did not feel so, they were two in their own world.

They only stopped occasionally to admire the plants or flowers, the girl crouched down to examine bugs and the boy watched her. The sky was a soft swirling blue, awoken by the presence of the sun.

"I wonder if he'll come." Plum thought out loud.

Paul watched her, the tense ball in his stomach again. "I'm sure he will. Certain, really."

"Thank you." The girl said but the boy was not sure what for.

It was midday when they reached the clearing, the rough, twisted wildlife reached their knees and the girl felt the flowers graze across her bare legs. A soft stream of light lit the field through gaps in the trees, which casted irregular shadows onto the ground.

"We're here." The girl said quietly.

The boy inhaled sharply as the girl turned around to face him. "Plum I have something to show you."

"Oh." Was all she said.

His head whirled, yet as his surroundings spun and twisted, she was the only thing that was perfectly clear. Her soft blonde hair, her pale skin and askew glasses. The odd socks and old cardigan he knew she had knitted herself. She was clear, she was precise. To him, the girl was definite.

"Have you ever heard the Quileute legends?" He began, looking down. "The legends say we, the Quileute's, are descendants from wolves. They say we have one true enemy, what we call the cold ones."

The girl did not speak, but instead watched. She watched his eyelashes graze his cheeks, his hands clench and unclench. It gave her an urge to reach out and touch him. To touch the skin she knew was soft, to listen to the words that she knew were sweet and honest.

"Those legends are true, if you can believe it. Do – do you mind if I show you?"

She shook her head, unable to find words.

"I have to take my clothes off," His eyes flickered up to her wide ones. "Just so you know."

"I'll turn around," Plum murmured. "If that's okay."

The girl spun around to face the wide canopy of trees; the world did not suddenly seem to be real for her. Her eyes traced the pines but her ears heard the rustle of clothing, of bare skin brushing against the knee-high grass. The air was sweet, and the girl closed her eyes to stop the world spinning.

"You can turn around now, just er – be prepared." The boy muttered, seemingly embarrassed.

She turned, and the boy she knew was a blur. The girl was not sure if it was the world still spinning, picking up momentum and distorting the boy with it, he shook and twitched, his limbs seemed almost disfigured as his body transformed. Yet his eyes, the eyes she knew and loved, did not move from hers. It was then as a mere boy, bare skinned and muscled, spouted fur and stretched, blurred and shook into a different form, that the girl understood. She understood right away, the eyes, so human, that burned into hers. Her mind stopped spinning as the boy was now a wolf, her wolf.

"Oh." She dropped to her knees, hands shaking, head shaking. "Oh. Paul."

The wolf cowered, head bent, eyes low but still on hers. It stood too far away from her, cowering, so unlike to powerful animal it was. She held out a shaky hand and the wolf stepped tenderly towards her, he was afraid, she knew. Yet she did not know of what.

"You're him." She whispered as his head touched her hand. "You're my wolf, aren't you?"

Paul bent his head lower, as though apologetic. His fur was soft, his scent sweet. She closed her eyes as tears tried to leak from the corners, she did not know what for. She was not sad, not angry, she didn't feel as though she should be shocked but was anyway. The girl was not entirely concerned that the boy was a wolf, primarily because she spent her days dreaming up much stranger things. For her, she was shocked that she was connected to a person in such an intimate and whole manner, previously without her knowledge. She did not know what love of friendship felt like before she met Paul; in fact she did not know what love felt like at all. It was the boy she loved not only as a friend who she had confided in, who she had cried in front of. She felt exposed, but she was not ashamed.

"It's okay." She whispered as he let out a soft whine. She ran her fingers across his neck, the wild fur tangling around her fingers. "I think I understand. Not completely of course, but I understand a few things."

She blinked and fell into thought. "Why you disappear often, why you can get so angry. Your friends – they're in it too, aren't they? Jared, Sam. Kim and Emily know, don't they?"

The wolf nodded once and let its head fall to the girl's lap. "Emily's scar?"

He closed his eyes and let out a soft yet pained sound, she felt her heart almost burst. It was too sad to belong to the boy. "I trust you though."

She looked at him, he looked at her. The wind howled around them but did not reach them like the sun did, the buttery light lit their faces, her rounded one and the boy's wolfy one. For the moment he could not speak, and she felt as though she could not either.


End file.
